


Isn't he Beautiful?

by littlefaerielights



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Oblivious Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is Bad at Feelings, Slow Burn, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:49:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefaerielights/pseuds/littlefaerielights
Summary: Richie hadn’t looked over at him, but he could hear the smirk in his unusually husky voice and butterflies erupted in his chest because why the fuck did he have to fall in love with his best friend? He tried to come up with some witty remark to start their familiar banter, but all he could think of was how fucking beautiful Richie was and he was set on memorizing the sight in front of him, so what came out instead was:“You’re really pretty.”





	1. Magic of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So, I started this under another title-- Teenage Satellites, but after rereading it, I decided I wanted to rewrite it. The first chapter is pretty similar to the first chapter from that fic.. so um, I hope you enjoy this!

Watching Richie smoke in his window, Eddie thought it should be _illegal _to be so fucking beautiful. Seriously. How could he look so beautiful while killing himself? _Who gave him the right? _It just wasn’t _fair. _He was very well aware of the fact that he was staring, because, like how could he _not? _And if Richie noticed, he didn’t say anything because he was too busy looking out at the stars and the moon and being _fucking perfect _with that goddamn cigarette hanging between his long fingers and Eddie was once again reminded how much he _loved _Richie’s hands. And he was half hidden in the shadow from the chimney and the light from the full moon was shining on his bare chest, illuminating the tattoo on his ribs and honestly? Eddie could just _die. _

“You’re staring, Eds.”

Richie hadn’t looked over at him, but he could hear the smirk in his unusually husky voice and butterflies erupted in his chest because _why the fuck did he have to fall in love with his best friend? _He tried to come up with some witty remark to start their familiar banter, but all he could think of was how _fucking beautiful _Richie was and he was set on memorizing the sight in front of him, so what came out instead was:

“You’re really pretty.”

And honestly, that was a lot better than _you’re fucking beautiful, _because that could have done more damage. But, still, guys don’t go around calling each other _pretty. _Like, yeah, sure, Richie called him _cute cute cute _all the time, but that was just _Richie. _And _pretty _is totally different than _cute. _Cute is for kittens and babies and people like Eddie because he’s _small. _When he finally got the courage to look back up at Richie, he realized why ribcages were a thing because his heart was about to beat out of his chest with the way that Richie was looking at him. Eddie had never seen that look in his eyes before. He wanted to say something, he really _really _did, but he couldn’t because he was scared that if he opened his mouth, the butterflies in his chest would escape and start to fly around the room. But at the same time, _why wasn’t Richie saying anything? _ Eddie took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

“Richie?”

His voice was lower than he intended it to be, but it seemed to break Richie out of his trance and the soft smile that he only ever saved for Eddie slowly spread across his lips as he threw his cigarette out of the window and stepped out of the window sill. But that smile was so fucking _bright, _brighter than he’d ever seen it and suddenly, it was like the sun had been unleashed in his darkened bedroom and Eddie almost wanted to reach for the sunglasses on his nightstand for dramatic effect. Richie closed the window and Eddie stared at him. He was just so _tall _and his bare skin still glowed in the moonlight that came through the window, he looked like an _angel. _His pajama pants hung low on his waist and Eddie tried not to focus on the _v _ leading down as Richie approached the bed and sat down across from him, crossing his legs under him.

“Mm, my Eddie Spaghetti, you’re _fucking beautiful._”

And, _oh, _Richie’s voice was like sweet warm dripping honey now, and all Eddie wanted to do was bathe in it. They were close now, almost _too close, _and Eddie could smell smoke, fresh air, and peppermint. It was so _intoxicating. _His clear blue eyes were sparkling now and he was staring at Eddie like he was the fucking sun, the moon, and all of the stars, and _what _did he do to deserve this? And suddenly, Richie’s hand on was on his face, long fingers tracing over his freckles because Richie had always loved his freckles. And the butterflies were no longer butterflies—they were fucking _angry bees_, pounding and buzzing against his ribcage, demanding to be set free.

“You’re _everything, _Eds.”

And now Eddie was scared to even open his mouth, because if he did, the bees would escape and sting them both. So he leaned into Richie’s touch and closed his eyes, enjoying his warmth and the way his thumb gently caressed his freckles, because _this _is what it felt like to be loved. It may not be the kind of love that he wanted—but it was _love _nonetheless. Eddie reached over and brushed the hair out of Richie’s eyes before pushing his glasses up and was rewarded with a gentle smile—the kind of smile that was only ever reserved for him. Eddie was the only one who got to see the sweet, soft side of Richie and he didn’t quite know what the meant, but he tried not to think about what that meant.

“Just so _goddamn beautiful._”

Richie’s words were so quiet, Eddie wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear them. But the bees were suddenly birds and flying around his chest. He could feel their wings violently flapping against his ribs, their sharp beaks angrily pecking against his organs, aching to escape. He imagined black birds tearing his throat open and flying around his room, singing of his love for his best friend while he bled to death in Richie’s arms. He silently begged for them to calm down so he could breathe. He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to the palm of Richie’s hand and suddenly Richie’s cheeks were painted a lovely shade of pink. Eddie decided this was his new favorite color.

_“Pretty.” _

Was that all he was capable of saying? He was surprised he _could _speak, honestly, with the birds flapping around his chest and his heart fighting to break out of its confinement. Eddie reached out to run his fingers over the blush and felt the birds grow angrier as the pink turned to red, while Richie’s eyes widened behind his glasses before closing at his touch. He leaned into Eddie’s touch and it felt like the birds wanted to crack his ribs open now. Things were getting _too real _and Eddie didn’t know where they were heading, but he _did _know that there was _no way in hell _that Richie felt the same way he did. They were just getting lost in the magic of the night.

“We—we should go to sleep.”

Eddie could practically feel the sweet, sticky, warm honey that was Richie’s voice dripping over his skin as he dropped his hand. There was still a strange electricity between them that had never been there before. He nodded in agreement, though, even though all he wanted to do was stay up and stare at Richie all night. He didn’t want to lose this magic. Eddie didn’t trust himself to speak, imagining the black birds ripping his throat open, as he pulled the blankets back. He felt them clawing at his throat though as Richie lay down next to him and pulled the blankets snug over them before pulling Eddie close to him like he always did. He wondered if Richie could feel his heart fighting to escape.

“Goodnight, my Spaghetti.”

Eddie is draped in soft black velvet, because that’s how fucking _soft _Richie’s voice is. The birds have finally calmed down. Richie’s racing heart is Eddie’s lullaby as it races a marathon under his ear. His skin burns where they touch, which is _everywhere. _He wondered if Richie could feel it, too.

“Goodnight, Richie.”

His words feel like they’re apart of the night, weighed down with secrets he’ll never tell. He snuggles closer to Richie and lets Richie hold on to him, even though he knows it will never mean the same to Richie as it does to him. As he breathes in the smoke and peppermint that is Richie, he tries not to let it break his heart.


	2. Trick of the Light

After Eddie kicks Richie out, he decides to walk over to Stan’s house. The sun is starting to rise now, and it’s honestly never looked so beautiful. He flicks his cigarette out into the street without caring where it lands before starting to climb the tree to Stan’s window. He quietly slides it open and pushes back the curtains, hoping not to wake his best friend.

“Take your shoes off.” Stan says in greeting without turning around. Richie slips his shoes off and puts them in the small plastic tray Stan has just for him under his bed before sliding out of his jeans. Stan lifts up the blankets for him and Richie climbs into bed, tangling their legs together and resting his head on Stan’s chest. They sit in silence for a while, Richie just listening to Stan’s heartbeat. “Are you okay?”

“Perfectly peachy.” Richie responds quietly, turning to rest his chin on Stan’s chest now, looking up at him. Stan wraps his arms tighter around his best friend and frowns.

“Not a fan of that answer.” He says.

“Not a fan of your _face_.” Richie shoots back and Stan raises an eyebrow. Richie groans and lays his head back down because sometimes it’s easier to talk without looking. Stan starts to run his fingers through his tangled hair. “It’s just—_Eddie._”

“It always is, Rich. What happened this time?”

“Okay, so like, you know how I always spend the night with him?”

“Yeah?”

“So I was sitting in the window, smoking, and I feel him _fucking staring _at me so, _obviously _I called him on it, like always. And I was expecting him to say some shit like he usually does, you know? Something about how I’m slowly killing myself or how I’m going to get sick or how stupid I look—but fuckin _noooo, _he says…” Richie takes a deep breath and turns to look up at Stan. “He says _you look pretty_.” He sits back up on his feet and runs his hands through his hair. “I had _no fucking idea _what to say to that! And he’s just staring at me like—like I don’t _know, _Stan! I’ve never seen him look at me like that before!”

Stan sits up, wrapping the blanket around him because Richie didn’t close the window like _always, _and gently pulls Richie’s hands out of his hair and holds them in his own because he can see Richie’s anxious energy eating him alive. “He _always _looks at you like that. Like you’re the only person in the room. You just don’t notice because you’re an oblivious idiot.” He says before pausing and adding, “You both are.”

Richie rolls his eyes and thinks back to last night, to how Eddie looked at him. It was the way Ben looked at Bev—with a kind of wishful longing, but also the same way Stan looked at Mike, like he was the sun and the stars and everything in between. It had taken his breath away, because Eddie had _never _looked at him like that before and he didn’t know what to make of it. It had to be a trick of the light, or his heart or brain or whatever the fuck was playing a trick on him because it simply _wasn’t possible. _But there was no denying the strange charge between them last night, the weird electricity that had never been there before. It was like they needed to be as close as possible, but not _too _close because it was all uncharted territory. He was drunk off of Eddie’s scent—spearmint, coconut and flowery (what kind of shampoo did he _use?_), and a faint scent of hand sanitizer—drunker than he’d ever been before and he was _terrified _he was going to do something he was going to regret, something that would ruin their friendship forever. But Eddie had been _so close, _so _open, _so _soft _in Richie’s old Nirvana shirt over his boxers and Richie swore he’d never seen anything so beautiful. His heart had nearly burst out of his chest when Eddie had kissed the palm of his hand and _what the fuck did that even mean? _Sure, Richie had kissed Eddie before, on his forehead, his cheek, his shoulder, his hands before, and Eddie had, too, but like everything else last night, it just felt… _different. _More sacred.

When Richie finally looked back up at Stan, he was looking at him with that _goddamn _all-knowing stare of his and Richie groaned because Stan always had a way of seeing right through him. _“What?” _

“I just… I just _can’t _with you sometimes, Richie.” Stan says, shaking his head, leaning back against his headboard. He places a pillow in his lap and Richie curls up there, wrapping a blanket around himself, allowing his best friend to gently untangle his curls. “I love you more than anything, but you’re just… you’re just _so stupid _sometimes.”

“Okay, I’m good with the insults, thanks, babe.”

“I just don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you that no matter _what _you do, there’s no way you could ruin your friendship with Eddie.” Stan says. “You could probably stab him and he’d apologize for bleeding on your shirt. He’s so desperately in love with you, and you’re the _only _one who can’t see it. I don’t even know _how _with these fucking coke bottle glasses of yours.” He says, pushing Richie’s glasses up his nose.

“He’s not in love with me, Stanny, there’s no way he could be.”

“Why do you think he’s always bickering with you? He’s always trying to get your attention when he thinks you’re not paying enough attention to him—which is like, _never _and when you aren’t, it isn’t hard for him to. And you two have _always _been too touchy feely with each other.” Stan’s fingers get snagged in a tangle and he gently works through it. “Think about, Richie.”

So Richie thinks about it and enjoys the feeling of Stan’s fingers in his hair. He thinks about last week when he was playing Fallout and Eddie felt _neglected _(his own words) so he stood in front of the t.v. with his hands on his hips, going on and on about absolutely nothing, so Richie pulled him to his lap without much thought and continued playing. He thinks about the beginning of the summer when he wouldn’t get out of the hammock in the clubhouse (his ten minutes were up) and Eddie climbed in with him. He thinks about how Eddie’s window is _always _unlocked, even if they _actually _get into a fight, because at the end of the day, they’re still best friends no matter what. He thinks about how their hands tend to find each other when they’re walking down the street and how after the chain on Eddie’s bike broke, they made no effort to fix it because it was easier for them to just ride double. He thinks about how they always share a chair on movie nights and how they seem to fit perfectly together, even after all these years. He thinks about how Eddie will only share food and drinks with Richie and how he carries an extra pair of glasses around in case he breaks his. He thinks of the extra inhaler in his back pocket that they both know he doesn’t need.

But they’ve been friends since they were four years old, they’re just… _comfortable _with each other. They _need _each other, so what if they show their affection in a different way than the other Losers? They’re all really affectionate with each other, and yes, Richie will admit that he and Eddie _are _a little more _touchy _with each other, but that’s just them. It doesn’t mean anything… right?

When he looks at Stan again, he’s raising an eyebrow again and Richie raises both of his. “I mean, we’re a little more touchy than the rest of the Losers, but that’s just… us.”

Stan groans and throws his head back. “Oh my god, Richie, you’re fucking hopeless!”

“Okay, first of all rude.”

“You’re literally _always _touching each other, and if you’re not, you’re finding a way to touch each other.” Stan says, rolling his eyes. “Everyone knows that you’re in love with each other except you two.” He flicks Richie’s forehead. “You’re just gay and stupid.”

“Okay, I feel like I should just introduce myself as that now. ‘Hello, my name is Richie Tozier and I’m Gay and Stupid, nice to meet you.’”

Stan snorts and rolls his eyes again. “But seriously, Rich, you two really just need to sit down and talk to each other. I’m tired of all of this fucking sexual tension between you two.” He stares down at Richie. “Sometimes I feel like just pushing you guys together and yelling KISS, but Bev keeps telling me to let you idiots figure it out on your own.” He shakes his head.

Richie chooses to ignore this and pulls Stan to lay down next to him. “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep _at all _last night. Can we just take a little nap?”

Stan sighs because this conversation isn’t _really _over, but Richie does look tired and Richie is one of the only people he’s ever had a soft spot for, so he nods and allows Richie to tangle their legs together and wrap his arms around his middle before wrapping his own around his shoulders. It only takes minutes for Richie to fall asleep and Stan nods off shortly after.

When Mrs. Uris comes to wake Stan for breakfast an hour later, she quietly takes a picture of her boys and allows them to sleep for a little while longer.

\---

Richie has always been entranced with anything and everything that Eddie ever did, and today is no different. In fact, he found it even harder not to stare after last night.

He’s sitting with Bev and Stan, weaving daises into crowns. His fingers handle the flowers delicately, weaving them in and out of each other, eyes flickering between the flowers and Bev. His tongue is sticking between his teeth a little, like he does when he’s focusing and it’s so fucking _adorable, _Richie can’t handle it and it takes all he has to stay where he is and not run over and kiss the ever living _fuck _out of him. He lights another cigarette instead and tries not to think too much about it.

He tries not to think of how Eddie’s lips would feel on his, or how his hands would feel in his hair, tugging and pulling as they tried to get closer and closer to each other… He tries not to think of the sounds Eddie would make, the look on his face, how breathless he’d be after—

“Richie!” suddenly Eddie’s in front of him, holding a flower crown. He’s bouncing on his toes with a smile brighter than the sun.

“Eds!” Richie responds with just as much enthusiasm and can’t help but return his smile.

“Look, I made you a flower crown!” he says proudly and gently places the daisies on top of his head before kissing his forehead. “There. Pretty.” He says quietly, smiling softly at him and there’s that _look _again. That wishful longing, like he’s the sun and stars and everything in between.

It has to be a trick of the light.

He pulls Eddie to his lap before he turns to run back to Bev and Stan. He laughs and adjusts himself so he’s in a more comfortable position. “Thanks, Eds.” He says and picks up his phone, turning the camera on. Eddie takes it from him and holds it out in front of them and kisses his cheek sweetly as he snaps the picture.

And it’s not weird or different or anything, Richie has plenty of pictures of Eddie kissing his cheek or vice versa, because that’s just how they are, but after talking to Stan this morning, it _feels _a little different.

He tries not to think about it, because it doesn’t mean anything. Richie watches as Eddie makes the picture his home screen before sending the picture to himself.


End file.
